Everyone, meet the Rock

Rock, this is everyone.  Well not everyone, but maybe one or two people.  I finally took some time and uploaded some pictures from Sao Paulo.  First off, the rock.  Here it is in all it's geologic glory.

The Mysterious Rock

Before leaving Sao Paulo, I had the pleasure of having dinner with the family of one of my co-workers at the bank.  It was a very nice evening.  His wife put out a great spread.  We had so much food and it all was so good.  I got to taste some wine from south Brazil and it was really, really good.  Their house was gorgeous.   One of the things that he had and which most houses have was an outside BBQ area.  It was a bricked in oven like and had all sorts of built in racks for skewers and grills.   The craftsmanship was amazing.  The bricks, and mortar were so perfectly laid out.  I was really impressed at how it was constructed, including a tile roof.  

On the way to the airport, the highway was packed with cars.  It took two hours to get  from the hotel to the airport which was about 20-25 miles.  The driver did not speak English so it was a quiet trip.  At one point though, when we were creeping along, he turned around, looked at me and said "Eh,,eet is Sao Paulo,,ugh".     I snapped a few pictures of the street vendors.  Actually they are Freeway vendors.  There are a lot of them and they all have something different to sell.  Almost all of them have the cell phone chargers hanging around their necks.  The most unique thing I saw was the guy pictured below, who was carrying a portable BBQ and was cooking food as he strolled among the cars.  His BBQ pit was actually a 5 gallon can that he had cut the sides out of. He had the fire burning inside it and the food was being cooked on the top of the can.   That is another interesting thing about the people here, or I should say there cause I am not there, I am here,, if you know what I mean.   Ok, where was I?   The people,, they never miss a trick at selling stuff.  At each bus stop, there would be someone selling candy bars, cigarettes, and gum form the back of their bike or a cart. 

BBQ Salesman

I had a good time in Sao Paulo.  The people were wonderful.  It was very strange to be in a place where communication was so difficult.  The Sao Paulino's were so generous and understanding.  I hope to go back someday, but , I hopefully will have time to learn some basic Portuguese. 
For one last picture, and a little excercise for you.  Their candy's have interesting names.  Below is a picture of a chocolate covered marshmallow treat. First off, they are so good.  The chocolate is very tasty.    Here in the US, our marketing people would come up with some name like "Chocolate Spiffy's" or  "Choco-Gems".  In Sao Paulo, these were named about as descriptively
as you can imagine.  So, imagine away and guess what they called these treats. 

Chocolate Spi

The Mystery of the Rambling Rock

Mystery Solved!! I figured out why the rock has been moving. I really do enjoy the walks to and from work each day, I will miss that when I leave Sao Paulo. The walk gives me plenty of time to notice and then contemplate the location of rocks. Over the course of a few weeks, I have noticed and seen a lot of things that genuinely impress me.


As an example, the traffic cops here are among the most fearless people I have ever seen. Without pause, they hold up a hand, blow a whistle and step out into three lanes of traffic that is speeding by. This reminded me of a riddle I read Q: Who is the strongest man in the world? A: A Policeman because he can hold up a line of cars with one hand. Okay, it was funny as hell when I was 8, and it stuck with me. It truly is amazing the way cars, pedestrians , motorcycles and the police all work together. There are two spots where I cross traffic and at times, there is no cop there. They way it works is that when a large enough group gathers at the crosswalk, a car in the nearest lane will stop and they hold their hand out of the window to let the next lane know to stop and then they repeat the gesture. They are so used to pedestrians here that it is second nature.

This afternoon we had to go into another section of the city to another bank building. We were waiting for a taxi when an armored car pulled up. Two guards got out, with pistols drawn. At first, it scared the crud out of me, I thought something was going down. When the two guys got out, they opened the back compartment and another guard got out, he had an empty money pouch in one hand and his pistol in the other. They fanned out in a big triangular pattern, with money pouch guy in the lead. I know that is pretty boring sounding but I was intrigued by this while scene. Also, while we were waiting, a helicopter landed on the roof. The bank has five copters that they use to shuttle executives from building to building within the city. It is not only for expediency of travel but also security.

So, back to the rock. One of the things I noticed on my walk was that in the afternoon when I am leaving, there is a lot of litter, especially close to the bus stops. In the morning, it is all cleaned up. Occasionally, in the morning, I would see plastic bags filled with trash, waiting to be picked up. This morning, I went into work about an hour early and found that the rock had once again moved. There it was sitting on the side of the walkway, on top of a bunch of plastic garbage bags. It was being used as a paperweight of sorts. Mystery solved. Next I will move onto the Mystery of Nancy Grace – human or zombie with a bad hair-do.

One more thing to mention. I could walk all over any city of the US and nobody would say a word to me. In the last two weeks, I have been stopped and asked for the time of day twice (pointing at an empty wrist is the universal sign for “what time is it?”), stopped by someone for spare change (shaking a plastic cup with a few coins in it) and twice I have no clue what people wanted. They said “A sua fecho ecler é para baixo “ or something like that, I shrugged my shoulders and we all laughed.

Two more days and I head back to Austin for a couple of days, then to Bentonville Arkansas and then Conroe Half-Ironman. When did things get so crazy?

First week in Sao Paulo

Still in Sao Paulo and no international incidents to report so life is good. It is strange trying to communicate with people where you do not speak the native language and hardly anyone speaks English. I get by with lots of pointing, shrugging, grunting and shaking my head. Actually, once again, just like being at home in Austin.


The last time I was here I took the taxi to and from where I worked. Sometimes, it was 15 Reales and sometimes it was 20 Reales. Taxi fees are very dependent on the driver because the cabs waiting outside the hotel do not use meters. Best I can figure, some companies have contracts or agreements with the hotel. If I caught a taxi out on the street it would be metered. The bank where I am working is about two miles from the hotel. It really bugged me to pay that much for going around the corner so I threw all my work stuff in a backpack, donned a windbreaker and started walking to/from work. It takes me about 30 minutes each way.  After a week, I am comfortable with it but it was a bit nerve racking the first few times. I mapped out a route that kept me off the main roads but I still had to cross several busy roads. I learned a neat secret though. I would wait till a large group of people gathered at a crosswalk and they sort of have a mob mentality and just take over the road, and cross it. I would blend in with them and get across unscathed. I feel like one of those little sucker fish who attaches itself to a shark.

One the way I pass up a couple of residential areas, aka : subdivisions. These are walled in communities with seriously high fences that surround them. The front entrance looks like a toll plaza. There are multiple entries for residents, guests and workers to go through. Each has their own specific entry. There are armed guards at the gates. These do not look like the rent-a-cop security guard you see in Austin. These guys look like they would really hurt you, with or without the guns they carry. Fact is, they look a lot fitter and capable than some of the Travis County Deputies I have seen.

I am working at a business office where all the IT workers are for the bank. Here , most of the knowledge workers are union so they have specific hours that they work. Each night at 5, we are done. They can work over but they have to get specific approval. It is nice that we can call it a day at a specific time. It is also nice that they have a end of the day time. The thing that is nice is that everyone leaves about the same time. The people here are very warm and friendly, when they leave work there is a lot of genuine affection shown as they leave. It really is wonderful to see how people interact with each other. As Americans, we tend to wander into work and wander out without much regard for each other. Here , they shake hands, pat each other on the back and hug without regard. It is great!! Even in the middle of the day, as people come back from lunch they regard each other with the same welcoming warmth.

Everyday around 9AM and 2Pm, the “coffee ladies” come by with snacks and drinks (FREE!!!). They go by each desk and hand out coffee (really good coffee), hot cocoa, and a bread roll. Sometimes they have yogurt, guava juice. The bread roll will have some kind of spread, cheese or meat in it. And it is FREE!! I like the “coffee ladies”.

When we leave work, there is a real hustle around the compound where we work. There are at least 30 buses lined up for the workers to board. The company furnishes busses from various parts of the city to the office. These are private buses, when you get outside the compound, there are more transit buses waiting for people. It is incredible to see how it all works. One of the things that makes it all work is the traffic cops. These are uniformed guys whose only responsibility is traffic. They do not have guns that I can see but they have these really cool uniforms. They are gray jumpsuits with neon two green stripes on the arms and legs. And they have these black knee pads and elbow pads as part of the jumpsuit. And here is the fashion highpoint, black calf-high boots that are worn on the outside of the jumpsuit. And they ride what look like moto-cross motorcycles. These guy’s besides looking really cool, go from traffic jam to traffic jam straightening out the messes. You can see them darting in and out of traffic as they make their way around.

One of the things that I am trying to figure out is the “mystery of the rock”. I noticed this on the second day of walking to work. On the sidewalk, there was a rock. The only thing that struck me as odd about this was that it was a rock, not a piece of concrete, a real chunk of rock. It is about like a bowling ball size, maybe a little smaller. Being on the sidewalk and in the middle of a urban area it caught my attention. The mystery part is that the rock is moving. Along the half mile stretch where I first saw the rock, I have spotted it in 4 different locations. Someone is moving it, for some reason. It has me stumped. Maybe I need to occupy myself some other way on my walks to work?

Houston seems small and Austin very tiny compared to Sao Paulo

I am in Sao Paulo Brazil. Sao Paulo is huge. I knew from looking it up on the web that it was large but had no idea how big until I came down here. First clue was that when we landed, the city started before we started our landing pattern. Nothing but houses and buildings to look at as we started into the airport. The city is home to 11 million people.


Coming into Sao Paulo is a series of waits, wait to get off the plane, wait in line for immigration , wait in line for luggage, wait for customs, wait for currency exchange, wait for taxi payment, wait for a taxi and then speed out of teh airport to join the nearest traffic jam. There is a lot of waiting but things actually move pretty quick considering the number of people being serviced. In the customs area, I swear that if they could have piped in " La Vida Es un Carnaval" we could have taken a shot at the world’s record for longest conga line. It was for the best because being an old white dude with two “no dancing” restraining orders to my name, would have gotten the conga line all messed up and we would have ended up back on the plane.

Traffic here is unreal. Traffic is packed on the roads but they move, sometimes slowly and sometimes very fast with sudden stops. Imagine I-35 or I-45 full of cars and on top of that being used by pedestrian and bike traffic. On the way into the city, I saw three groups of cyclists, riding in a pace line down the shoulder of the freeway. Along side of the road are people walking, crossing the exit and entrance ramps. For us, it is unfathomable but for Paulistano's it is the norm. Traffic jams are so prevalent that there are vendors on the side of the freeway selling chips, sodas, ice cream and amazingly, cigarette lighter cell phone chargers.



Street Vendor between the lanes of traffic on the hiway to airport





Before - traffic circle on Sunday afternoon



These are  before and after pictures of the roundabout seen from my hotel room. The before picture was about three in the afternoon on Sunday. The after picture is the same traffic circle at 5:30 on a Monday. The roundabout stays full for about two hours. Traffic is constantly moving. Notice all the pedestrians on the right side.  Lot's of people walking.



After - Same traffic circle on Monday evening

 During the rush hour, I noticed a woman with a load of goods.  She was working the traffic circle in a counterclockwise direction.  I am not sure what she was selling but she had a few buyers while I watched her. 

Street Vendor working the traffic circle

And another thing to mention,, when I proofread anything that I write via the web, 99% of it is misspelled.  Seems that Mister Google knows I am in Brazil and it proofs it for Portugese. 

So, everyone, I finally,, wait, there is no change in my spelling so never mind.

Ciao!

Myrtle Beach Race report of sorts

This is a long overdue race report from Myrtle Beach National Championships. Not quite a month late but from what I understand, there are no rules or limitations on past posting a blog. Plus on the positive side, I can embellish and exaggerate as much as I want and blame it on my “forgetfulness”.


Rather than a minute by minute, mile by mile race report, I will stick to some highlights, and lessons learned. I will skip the low lights because, to be very honest, there were none. It was a great race for me.

One thing that really stuck me with this race was the caliber of athlete racing. It was the National Championship and I am not sure why it surprised me but it did. Most triathlons are a mix of skills, body shapes, and equipment. Here at Myrtle Beach, everyone was lean and muscular. All their equipment was carbon-fiber, and aerodynamic. Despite the field being so experienced, I was amazed at the reaction to the swim being canceled. A few days before the race, a tropical storm came through the coastal states and dumped a huge amount of rain into the areas. All the run-off put a large amount of water and e-coli into the waterway. About an hour before the race start, they race producers announced that the swim portion was canceled because of high e-coli bacteria. When they made that announcement, you would have thought that they had announced that the Nancy Grace show was canceled or everyone was getting a free car from Oprah. I never realized that triathletes disliked 1/3 of their sport. The entire transition area had a carnival like atmosphere from that point on.

I was riding a loaner bike because my frame had cracked (again). I was breaking the first rule of triathlon, “Nothing new on race day”. I had, at most, ridden about 50 miles on this bike and I ended up having my best bike time ever. I averaged over 20 MPH across the 56 miles. I won’t lie; it hurt to push myself as hard as I did. In hindsight, it was probably good that I was on the new bike. Had I experienced that pain on my old frame, I might have backed off. Who knows??? Regardless, it was a great ride. It was on flat roads, with some wind but for the most part the conditions were great for riding.

My run was great also. It was not my best run but it was only two seconds slower than my Galveston Half-IM time so I am happy with that. The run is mostly determined by how well I manage my bike ride. I did a good job managing the nutrition and hydration so once I started running off the bike, I felt good the whole way and was able to negative split the course.

Final results, I came in 25th out of 36. At first glance, I was disappointed with this. I really wanted to make the list for worlds and they only take the top 20. At first I was not sure if I was disappointed by my place finish or with not making worlds. After 20 seconds of soul searching, I figured out that I could not be disappointed. I did my best. I know that I could not have ridden any harder or ran any better. I did everything just right so I cannot use those other factors to gauge my satisfaction with my race. Yeah, I know, at first, I did not buy it either but that is the reality.

Just my opinion

Proudly, I can say that I do not watch much television. When I do, it is usually centered around geeky programs like “MythBusters”, or “How is it made”. What I call Entertational programs. Most of the time I am busy with my training programs to sit down and watch TV on a regular basis. Even if I have all the time in the world, I probably would limit my tube time. I have found very few programs that have captured my attention. I am not one with a refined cultural senses but most programs I see advertised lack any creativity that draws my interest. I recently caught an advertisement for a new program, a sitcom called “Outsourced”. From the 60 second ad, I picked up on the main premise, the comic value of mixing cultures when a company goes off shore with their helpdesk operations. I am assuming a lot here since that is all I got was a 60 second promo.


I will not be watching “Outsourced”. Not because my time is so valuable but mainly because it will not be funny to me. I have been witness to the impact of outsourcing. I have seen many friends lose their jobs because their function was sent to India, China, Russia, Brazil,, (insert country of choice here). Plus, I just don’t think it will be that funny. I predict that they will make it one season and then run out of gags.

Maybe I am being too critical of this premise, after all the TV people found a way to sketch out humor based on WW II prisoners of war (Hogan’s Heroes). So, this might be a sensational hit if they can figure out fresh jokes about curry and baba ganoush on a weekly basis. Now that I think of it,, baba ganoush is a funny word. Oh, wait that could be an episode, the main American character is pranked by his Indian co-workers when they introduce themselves as “Baba Ganoush” and “Chicken Vindaloo” . Okay, I admit it, I was too premature on my judgment of this show. It has potential.

I am anxiously awaiting the new season where the networks will premier “Dusty Roads” , a whacky sitcom about a family escaping the 1930’s Dust Bowl heading to California. Another one on tap is “Jacob’s Well”, the hilarious antics of a Louisiana fisherman, and his dealings with British Petroleum.

Feeling Sorry

Recently I was at a social gathering, (aka “a party”) taking part in the usual small talk. One person in the group was constantly using the term “I feel sorry for …” . If the subject was cruises, He would say “I feel sorry for anyone who has not taken the cruise from New Orleans to Des Moines”, or if we were talking about cuisine, he would chime in with “I feel sorry for you if you have not had the B-B-Q Crab at Ted’s Diner in Orange Texas”. I could understand this if it happened once but it was his recurring, go-to phrase. Several times it was a directed statement. Someone would say, “Ghee I wished I was able to see the Stones concert when they were in Austin, but I was just recovering from chemotherapy.” Two seconds later “Dude, I feel sorry for you, you missed the Stones”. All I could think of was that this guy was a pompous ass.


But, as most things do, it got me to thinking, about who I would feel sorry for. I guess I am cold hearted because I do not recall ever telling someone that I felt sorry for them. So, that sort of makes me think, who do I feel sorry for? I mean outside the usual, health issues, and misfortune. My list of “sorry for” is pretty simple. So for now, I will assume the role of pompous ass, just for a few minutes.

I feel sorry for anyone who has not felt the heightened senses, increased heart rate and nervous energy that comes with standing up against people who are doing bad things. I feel sorry for those people who co-operated with bad decisions / actions by not standing out from the crowd and saying “This is not right”. I also feel sorry for those people who took action and protested wrong doings, only to get steam rolled over and ignored.

I feel sorry for anyone who has not been able to drive down a lone country road in Texas, late at night, with “Everyone wants to rule the world” by Tears for Fear, cranked up. You can substitute any song, but you cannot beat the feeling of being out in the middle of nowhere, driving through the darkness and listening to some great music. It is escapism that is available to anyone. I feel sorry for anyone who tries to talk during these drives, so shut up , listen and enjoy the moment.

I feel sorry for people who never had the opportunity to be part of a work effort where egos, politics and agendas were never an issue, the mission, the goal, the project was primary, everything else just did not matter.

I feel sorry for anyone who has not crossed a finish line, knowing that they did their best.

I feel sorry for pompous asses.

Jet lag immunity

First things first.  Everyone warned me about jet lag.  I heard all about how my sleep cycles would be messed up and how I would be sort of goofy during the days following my return form Australia.  All I have to say is that I don't think I caught this jet lag bug.  I stayed up till 3:30 AM just to see if I had jet lag and it was non-eventful.  Okay, first things first, I want to talk about jet lag. 

Actually, I am putting this whole, can't sleep thing to good use.  Since I am awake and watching more TV than I usually do, I am getting a heavy dose of commercials and infomercials.  One in particular caught my attention.  It claims that the average mattress doubles in weight after 8 years due to sweat, dead skin cells, and the millions of dust mites that take up residence in the mattress.   The average mattress weighs around 90 pounds so that means after 8 years, it weighs 180 pounds.  I am guessing that it is a linear growth, so it gains about 11.25 pounds per year.  I got out the old slide rule and did a few calculations.  Based on the weight of a dust mite and skin cells, it would be impossible for the mattress to double in weight.  Unless there are 8 people sleeping in the bed on a 24 hour basis.  So, I came to the conclusion that this doubling of weight, is a fraud.  It is just a big scare tactic to get people to buy a new mattress.

In the course of my investigation, I discovered that my wife does not like being woke up at 3:00 AM, so I can weigh the mattress with the bathroom scale.  I am now doing some calculations about how soon I need to replace my couch, because that is where I am sleeping.  No one said science was easy.  I am sure that Einstein caught a lot of grief when he was inventing the bagel.

Okay, maybe I caught a little jet lag.

Home again

It is strange how being out of town, it felt like a long time but now that I am home, it seems like it flew by. Of course it could be jet lag. Who knows.
We finished up our work in Melbourne a two days early so, I was able to get home a little earlier than planned. The flight back was long. I was trying to figure it out, how many hours I was on the road. And to be very honest, I am not really sure. It is somewhere between 5 hours and three days, depending on if you are using Melbourne time, Austin time, or if you are sitting next to a crying baby. By the way, "Crying Baby" is code for "Old woman who farts a lot". Once again, I was blessed with an odd seat-mate. This one definitely goes on the list. How did I know it was he? Because just about the time I thought a "baby was crying", the old woman would look around, with a quizzical look on her face like she was trying to see whose "baby had cried". Lucky, lucky me. Okay, I should be thankful and look on the bright side that I was able to go to Australia . At the same time,  I am also thankful for background sounds and noise-cancelling headphones. And no, I did not challenge her to a contest. I am much too mature for that. I did think about it though. "Bring it on old woman! The light is green!". I only thought about it for a little bit, because, once again, too mature. 

My first impressions of Melbourne were from the people manning the posts at customs and immigration and when leaving, it was the people at airport security. From start to end, the people I came in touch with were pleasant, helpful and very considerate. That was pretty much the way it was my entire time in Australia. Everyone was wonderful. It makes it so much easier when in a different place and there is an air of hospitality. When talking to people they were very interested in hearing about Texas and more than once, asked how I liked Melbourne. Many people offered up interesting places to check out while I was there. It was a great visit. A lot of long hours of work, but I cannot complain. Wait, yes I can, but I won't.

I am glad to be home. It was strange to be away for so long. One of the things I noticed when I got home was that someone had taken a flamethrower to the lawns in the neighborhood. I guess it has been hot here??

Now, it is time to get back to normal, or as close as I can come to it. Half-Maxx is coming up fast and I need to put training in high gear. I have to get my diet back under control. I did my best to watch what I ate while away, but with the erratic schedule, lack of Quinoa and steel cut oats, I did not fare well.

I wish I could tell you about

an amazing weekend of being a tourist and exploring more of Australia's wonders.  But, I can't.  I have mostly been working, thus the lack of blogging.  My view has pretty much been restricted to my hotel room.  Don't think that I missed out on taking in the sights though.  I managed to walk around Melbourne and explore a bit.  This city has all sorts of bars and restaurants tucked away in the alleys.  Sometimes, you can hear the music coming from a place or you can see a bunch of people standing out in the alley.  This is not just in a few places, they are scattered all over the city. 

I took the bus down to St. Kilda beach and walked around there.  The area is full of restaurants and pubs.  Lot's of characters.  I spotted Melbourne's version of Austin's Leslie.  Nothing to worry about, Austin still holds first place when it comes to old, bearded, transvestites.  I have no idea what the ranking is based on, just trust me on this one. 

I ran into an old friend from Austin.  He was hanging out near the Royal Exhibition Hall, which is in the photo above.   Some of you may recognize this guy.    The next day, we met up at the Docklands and did some touring around.  Docklands is amazing, it seems to be a new development in Melbourne.  There is a lot of construction down in the area.  The docks are full of yachts, big yachts. 

I know it is very narcistic of me, but I needed some proof that I was in Melbourne so I took a picture of my shadow.  That is the sillotte of the Backpack-o-Fun, not my ass sticking out.  I know that I look taller but trust me, that is the angle of the sun. and yes, I had my eyes closed when I snapped the picture.  I should have taken the time to retake it.

I have just a few more days so I am hoping that I can get out and see a bit more of the city.  I have had a great time here, and now I am ready to get home.  Three weeks is a long time to be away.

Here is why I am not allowed to drive in Melbourne

Here is a picture of what is referred to as a Melbourne Hook Turn. Bear in mind that in Australia they drive on the left-hand side of the road. Only in Melbourne do they have the hook turn, that is why they call it a Melbourne Hook Turn. Pretty ingenious, eh? They use the hook turn in order to facilitate a right turn in intersections where there is a lot of through traffic and trolleys. Basically, the driver who wants to turn right, moves into the left side of the intersection and allows the through traffic to move by. Then when they get the chance, they turn right. Sometimes there are two or three cars sitting in the intersection. And in most cases, they usually make the turn after the light has turned red. That is where the horns come in.

I mentioned the Shrine of Remembrance.  This is a picture of it, as well as a shot of Melbourne from the upper balcony of the Shrine.  Inside the shrine is a stone tablet that is below the floor, where you have to bow your head to read "Greater love hath no man" that is engraved on the stone.  There is a portal in the side of the shrine up high on one side.  On Remembrance Day, November 11 at 11:00 they have a moment of silence in remembrance of Australians who lost their lives in war.  At the same time, the portal focuses a beam of sunlight that travels across the inside of the Shrine and crosses over the stone and it lights up the word "Love" as the Earth moves around the sun.

I mentioned the library that I stumbled upon. It was the State Library of Victoria.  Here are a few pictures of it.  The pictures do not do it justice because of the sheer size of the place.  Every floor was full of tables and research desks, everyone was full.  There were so many people there and it was a Sunday afternoon.  The picture on the right is of the dome. 

I have several pictures of the Botanical Gardens, but due to a recent revelation, I found out that a certain, un-named family member, hates trees.  So, I won't talk about the tree's lest my daughter get upset and go anti-arbor on me again.  Take that Tree Hater!

Here is a picture of the deluxe accommodations that the company put me up in, after I got kicked out of the Holiday Inn for excessive flushing. 

Weekend in Melbourne

First off, thanks to all my great friends and their beer recommendations.  I will ask that they include some hangover remedies next time.

 

I had an amazing weekend of being a tourist by randomly stopping in the middle of intersections and staring up at buildings.  That got tiring so I started asking strangers for directions to places I had already been.

 

I  started off the weekend with a long run along the Yarra River (pronounced Yarra).  I ran this trail last week and was amazed at all the bike commuters.  On Saturday, the trail was full of runners.  They were not quite as many runners as we see in Austin on Town Lake trail but there were quite a few of them.  The rowers though were another story.  There must have been 30-40 boats out on the river.  Their coaches would be riding on the trail with megaphones shouting out the drills and instructions.   Speaking of the trail, they run on the left side of the trail, just like when drive on the roads.  Some idiot forgot that for a short spell and I almost got ran over. 

 

I won’t go into the gory details of being a tourist, (you can thank me now) other than to say Melbourne is pretty amazing, lots to see and do.  Really nice place to visit, lot’s of history and there are many side alleys with little shops, pubs  and coffee shops in them. 

 

They Shrine of Remembrance is a monument to all the Australians who lost  their lives in war.  I was at the Shrine, on Saturday, the same day that they announced that an Australian soldier was killed in Afghanistan.  They had a moment of silence and it was pretty sobering to be there at that moment.  And that is about all I have to say about that.

 

My crazy magnet was in overdrive on Sunday.  I rode the tourist bus around town because the weather was a little bit on the nasty side.  Of all the seats open on the bus, Mr. Crazy Old Man sat next to me.   Yep,, that was the longest bus ride of my life.  Besides being somewhat incoherent, he was hard of hearing so having any conversation was near impossible.  I did not want to seem rude so I tried to carry on as close to a conversation as is possible.  I got off the bus about a mile shy of where I wanted to be, but it was away from where I did not want to be, sitting next to Crazy old Man.

 

Vega might Not

In 1982, Men at Work, released the song “Down Under”.  In the song. A six foot man, full of muscles gives someone a Vegemite sandwich.  It was not a simple matter for him to just answer the question, “are you from the land down under?” he avoids the question, smiles and hands off the Vegemite sandwich.  I think that worst part of this song is that it started an odd curiosity in Vegemite.  When people heard that I was headed to Melbourne, some of them asked, “You going to have a Vegemite sandwich?” .  To be honest, I did not have any intention of going out of my way to try Vegemite but, there at breakfast, they had small packets of Vegemite.   When I saw these small packets,  I decided to give it a try.  Just a small taste.  Vegemite is black, and gooey.  It does not wiggle like jello it just sits there.  Unfortunately, I did not smell it to see if it had an odor.  If I had, I probably would not have put two very small drops of it on the end of a fork.  I figured that would be enough to get a taste and if I liked it, I could double it up to four small drops.  Slowly, I put the fork in my mouth, and cautiously licked the stuff off my fork.    As soon as I put it into my mouth I had a full body dry heave.    My face immediately contorted into what I think could have been an impression of Popeye.  It took a minute to relax my face.  I can honestly say that Vegemite is evil.  When the four horseman come, they will be bringing Vegemite with them.  I always wondered what they did with all that stuff from EPA Superfund clean-up sites,  I now know that they  collected it all together, mixed it with lots of salt and packaged it under the name Vegemite.  The six-foot guy, full of muscle gives the Vegemite sandwich,, with a smile.  The lyrics do not state this but it was a sadistic, evil, mean-spirited smile.  I have no idea why someone would give another person a Vegemite sandwich and then smile about it.  I guess if the other person was  Sarah Palin or a cast member of Jersey Shore, that is okay.  Other than that, I think it would just be mean to hand one of these to someone.   

 

While I am at it, I was also asked to verify or unmask the urban legend that water goes down the drain in a clockwise direction here in the southern hemisphere, opposite to the Northern hemisphere where it goes down the drain in a counter-clockwise direction.  So, as the designated Mythbuster from Austin, I checked it out.  I ran multiple experiments using the bathroom sink, the toilet and the bathtub.  After several hours, 30 gallons of water, complaints from the hotel manager and scientific analysis, I can honestly say that, it is a fifty-fifty mix, sometimes one direction and sometimes the other.  The exception to that is the toilet, it has a power flush which forces the flow in a clockwise direction.  There you have it, it just does not matter.  At least in the Holiday Inn.  For a conclusive examination of the subject,  I will be checking the theory out at the Hotel Essex later today because of my recent eviction from said Holiday Inn.

 

 

Where did Day 3 in Melbourne go?

Day 1, then Day 2 and then supposedly there should be Day 3 in Melbourne.  Well I had good intentions of  writing about my day three but something happened.  First off, it was another work day so you know that means I had to work.  I had hoped that while here in Melbourne I could stay with my training program.  The hotel web site showed a nice fitness center and a swimming pool.  True, they did have a fitness center and they did have a pool but both are woefully small. In typical hotel fashion, the fitness room is a closet with three pieces of equipment, an exercise bike, a treadmill and a mop.  The mop was the most modern piece of equipment.  Luckily there is a health club around the corner from the hotel so I got a three week membership.  I negotiated a cheap price with them.  I was brutal with them.  It was tough but I got the price down cheap and the only concession is that I cannot use the showers, sauna, and steam room.  I do not have access to any lockers and cannot use the hair dryers.  I can only use the gym between the hours of 12:00 Noon and 12:15.  But, here is where I whittled them down, I get unlimited use of their mop.

 

All of that has nothing to do with Day 3 except that I came back to the hotel room after doing some mop presses.  I fired up the computer, laid down on the bed and woke up in Day 4 in Melbourne.

 

I did have lunch in a small noodle shop in Chinatown.  My table was right next to the kitchen, as were the other three tables.

 

So to summarize Day 3,  work, noodles, mop and sleep.

 

Good night / morning / day,, whatever

 

 

Day 2 in Melbourne

Today was a work day so, I had to work.  I did get a chance to walk along the Yarra River and explore that section of town.  Very new section of the city. Lots of shopping, theatres and a casino. Two distinct sections of the city, one side of the river is new and polished.  The other side is older and has much more character.  The city is having their Winter Carnival right now so there is a lot going in the newer section.  Ice skating, polka music and vendors selling meats on a stick, funnel cakes and hot chocolate. Oh, and beer.

Speaking of beer, they sell it, wine and hard liquor on Sundays.  Yesterday, I spotted two guys walking down the street with cases of beer on their shoulders.  That struck me as odd when I saw that. 

I found my way to Fitzroy Gardens on Sunday while exploring the city. The park is absolutely gorgeous. The grass is so green and the trees are large and varied. I have no clue what types of trees these are but they range from some without leaves (It’s winter here) , some are tropical palms and some are Evergreens. There is one type of tree here that has a bunch of trunks growing up from the base. There are 6-10 trunks all growing up from a central base. You can climb up and just sit in there amongst the tree trunks.


They have one tree that has all sorts of fairies, and animals carved into the trunk. It was crafted by a local artist in 1931 and donated to the children of Melbourne. It is known as the Fairy Tree. There are all sorts of “fairy vignettes” carved into this tree. Lot’s of frolicking and dancing amongst toadstools and foxes. It also has a darker more sinister side. The tree has Fairies stuck in spider webs and being attacked by a spider. There is an Eagle carved into the tree, it is flying and in its claws is a fairy. I am sure that the artist had the best intentions but what scary images she portrayed. I guess kids growing up here just take it all in stride and that maybe why the Australians are so tough. Putting all these scary images on a tree and donating that to children,, she might as well have written a song for kids that has imagery of the great plague.

Also in the Fitzroy Gardens is a miniature Tudor village donated to the citizens of Melbourne from the English. After World War 2, the people of the UK were experiencing food shortages and the Melbournites donated food. In recognition of that gesture, people from the UK made this entire Tudor village and sent it over to Melbourne. The houses and buildings are less than knee high. Each house or building is very detailed. Sadly, it is all fenced in and you cannot walk around in the village. I really wanted to see what it felt like to be a giant.

Most of the trees in the Gardens had sheet metal wrapped around their trunks. I figured it was for keeping squirrels off the trees, or may be to keep kids from climbing up the trees. Nope,, not so. Turns out they have an over-population of, ready for this, Possums. Not just one type of possum, two types. Who would have thought that? If they had the Australian version of East Texas redneck, they would not have that problem. They may end up having to put the possum on the endangered species list. Maybe we can send over some recipes.

Tomorrow is another work day, so I am thinking that I may have to work , again.   I do have big plans to try me some Vegamite!   
 
Another thing that I love about this city, Pubs and coffee houses, there are lots of them, everywhere. 

Day 1 in Melbourne

Okay, it is around 5:30 on Sunday evening here in Melbourne. It is 2:20 AM back in Austin. I arrived here at 8:00 after a 15 hour flight from LAX. That was the longest flight that I have ever been on and it was not as bad as I thought it was going to be. My only complaint is with one screaming brat who was on the flight. Initially I thought the kid was in pain from the pressure, but after several hours of on again, off again crying, I figured it was just bratiness and I was right. After the flight while clearing immigration, I heard the familiar sounds of "the brat". She was screaming again due to who knows what. Her parents were trying to bargain her into silence. Naturally, it did not work.
A couple of immediate observations, the people here are amazingly friendly. First time here and I have had to rely on several people for assistance and they have been great. From the folks at the Bus counter, the bus driver, immigration and customs, everyone, repeat, everyone has been nice, polite and friendly. Another thing I noticed was that they had a large number of service dogs working customs. I saw 6 of them just in my little section of the customs area. While I was there, the dogs busted a little Chinese Lady. She may have had some General Tsao's Chicken in her suitcase.
There was a customs officer working the line doing random interviews of people in line. She came by me and asked the following:
Her: Carrying any agricultural items?
Me: No
Her: Nuts or beans?
Me: No
Her: Apples, bananas, oranges?
Me: No
Her: Any Mayonnaise?
Me: Mayonnaise?
Her: Just checking to see if you are listening.
We both laughed; little did she know that I was carrying other condiments in my suitcase.
I made it into my hotel room and did a quick walking tour of the area. I am staying right downtown so there is a lot to see.
I toured through St. Patrick's Cathedral which is a lot like St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City. But in a cathedral to cathedral match-up, Melbourne kicks New York's butt. Around the main altar, there were 8 "mini-altars". It was like a buffet of altars. If you did not like one, you could keep moving down the line and select another one. One more winning factor, wooden ceilings. In fact, Melbourne's St. Pat has lots of wooden architectural features.
I toured the Fitzroy Gardens, Treasury Gardens and the Gold Treasury Museum. I will write more about them later.
Before I go though, I came across this sign, and I am not sure what behavior forced them to put this up.

Good night / morning,,

Ricky Rodeo

The Word Nazi has given me a directive to write a brief story about myself. I am supposed to write about an event or a time in my life that will be new information to most people. I had already found a loophole in this assignment, until he threw in the last part, "It has to be posted in the Blog". Damn he is good.

For this subject, I need to go back in time, way back, before I was entered into the Federal Witness Program. It was a long time ago.

I was working graveyards at the time so my evenings were free. On Monday and Wednesday evenings you would find me in Aldine Texas, at the Circle 8 Rodeo Arena. On those nights they had "buck outs". In a buck out, you would pay 5 dollars to ride bareback broncos', saddle broncos' or bulls. This was a way for rodeo cowboys to practice. There were usually no crowds. You just paid your money and you got to ride the bucking stock. Circle 8 was a run down, dilapidated tin building with a rodeo arena built in it. The arena was built out of oil drilling pipes. The pipes were old and mostly coated in rust. The lights that worked provided just enough illumination to make everything look depression era gray. The floor of the arena was a little bit dirt and lot bit manure.

I have to mention a couple of things about this. First and foremost, I was not raised on a farm, ranch or even near a petting zoo. My only background in rough stock was, well, I had no background. I honestly had no business thinking about riding in a rodeo, but it was something I wanted to try. There was always someone there to teach you what to do, so I watched and learned. For several weeks, I just went out and watched. I learned how to rosin up the glove, so the rope would not slip through my hand. And more importantly, I learned how to wrap the rope around my hand so it would slip out when the time came.

The other thing to mention is that the Circle 8 bulls were not the best. These were typically bulls that washed out of rodeo school. These bulls rode in the short yellow bus. They were missing some key attributes that prevented them from being used in real rodeos. Real rodeo being ones that people paid money to attend and they awarded prize money to the cowboys who won. Rodeo stock is a lot like baseball, they have major leagues, minor leagues and farm leagues. Circle 8 rodeo stock was almost farm league. The Circle 8 stock were not aggressive, they did not buck hard and most important, they did not chase you. Despite that, the first time I climbed onto the back of a bull, I was terrified. My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel it in my ears. My mouth was dry and I had tunnel vision. The first time I rode, I was bucked off within 1 second. In reality, I let go and baled off before the bull even had a chance to kick his hind legs. The next time, I hung on a little longer and made it 4 or 5 seconds. Gradually, my fears abated and I started learning how to balance, how to shift my weight and most important how to hang on for 8 seconds. After many months of riding, learning and improving, I started getting pretty good. At least when compared to the farm league bulls at Circle 8.

After those many months, I finally got the opportunity to ride in a real rodeo. The Galveston County Fair was coming up and they had the usual, carnival, livestock show and rodeo. The rodeo producers were out of Stephenville Texas and they were bringing major league stock. Several of the cowboys I had met urged me to step up and enter the rodeo, and possibly make some money. So, being the, not so smart person that I was, I decided to give it a shot. I paid my entry fees and my name was put in for the draw. The draw was where they would randomly pair you up with a bull. It is a chance system on which bull you get, that makes it fair to everyone. I pulled a bull named "Mushmouth".

Here is where terrifying comes in. As mentioned earlier, these bulls are major league. They are big, bad, mean and really, really pissed off. Yep,, definitely big. Here is a comparison for you,, Circle 8 bull = Mini-Cooper, Rodeo bull = Hummer . When these boys come into the corral, they are all bowed up ready to kick some butt. They are snorting, and clawing their hoofs at the sand. Their eyes are wide and they stared out looking for a target. My eyes were wide and I was looking for an exit. When they started moving these guys into the chutes, I was terrified. Each time one them got near the chute, they would kick the chute doors and the while arena would ring like a pipe was being hit with a sledgehammer. Occasionally a cowboy would have to climb up on a railing and push the bulls head so that the horns could fit through the chute. I was scared out of my mind. These bulls were nothing like the ones I rode at Circle 8. My mouth was as dry as sand. I felt like I had been chewing on cotton balls. I watched, no, make that stared as they brought Mushmouth into the chute. He was huge. He filled up the entire chute and he was not happy at all about being there. He moved back and forth in the chute. Each time he hit the back or front of the chute, it would clang really loud.

I tried to ease my mind by getting my rope ready. It was all an act,, the whole time I was rosining my rope, all I could think about was death, dismemberment and that it was all going to be witnessed by my girlfriend and some other friends who I invited. While I readied myself, Mushmouth continued to make as much noise as possible and at one time, tried to climb out of the chute. Okay, let me see if I covered everything, a) I am not a cowboy, b) I should never have thought I was a cowboy, c) bull is pissed off and) I am terrified,, yep that covers it.

It comes my turn to ride so I get on top of Mushmouth and start rigging my rope. Each time the rope touches him, he reacts with muscles that start twitching from back to front. Somewhat like a shiver that you can see as it moves from muscle to muscle. It is accented with a snort and an occasional attempt by him to turn around and bite me. Once my rope was ready, I slowly started lowering myself onto of this animal. They had to open the gate a few inches so that they could make room for my legs in the chute. I squeezed myself on top of him and started tying my hand into the bull rope. Each time the rope was tightened, Mushmouth would start quivering. These bulls know what is going on and this guy was getting ready to eat me. As soon as I was ready, I pulled myself down tight onto Mushmouths back, I tightened my legs and started squeezing so I could hang on as long as possible. Once I nodded my head, the gate would open and Mushmouth would jump out into the arena and try to buck me off. My job, hold on for at least 8 seconds without touching the bull with my free hand. My free hand was up in the air poised next to my ear for balance.

One other item to mention, it is not enough to expect a bull to buck when there is some nitwit riding his back, the rodeo producers use a cinch strap to help assist the process. The cinch strap is a rope that they put around the hindquarters of the bull. It is like a belt and it does not hurt the animal but it annoys the heck out of him.

In a perfect world, here is what would happen, I would cram my hat down really snug, I would keep my grip tight, nod my head vigorously. When I nod my head, the gate gets swung open and Mushmouth, suddenly having the freedom of the arena in front of him, would jump out. As he is leaving, the cinch strap gets pulled tight, he starts bucking, spinning, and twisting. Again, in this perfect world, I would hold my balance, pre-meditate his every move and counter his bucking, spinning and twisting. 8 seconds later, I am off and running to safety.

Unfortunatley, this is not a perfect world, and here is where things start unraveling. Hat is crammed, grip is tight, head is nodded, and the gate is open. Mushmouth shoots out from the chute with much gusto. He went straight out into the arena and had to have put 4 or more feet of air between himself and the ground. I was gripping with my legs and I was as inanimate as one of those plastic toy cowboys. I was flying with him through the air, I was ready for his front feet to hit the ground and start spinning. He did not do that though. What I did not know was that he shot out so fast, that they did not get a chance to cinch up the rope on his hindquarters. He basically had no reason to be mad since I weighed nothing compared to him. When he landed, he landed on all fours and just stood there. The two of us were frozen, I was sitting on top of a bull, shoulders tight, arm over my head, death grip on the rope, and he just sat there. No matter what, I get scored as long as I do not touch the bull so for 8 long seconds, I just sat there. The rodeo clowns threw their hats at him to get him to move,, he just sat there. I could hear the snickers from the audience. And then I hear, the sound of a bull urinating,, followed by more robust laughter. There Is nothing like sitting on a peeing bull in front of a thousand people, to bring you down to earth.

With my pride thoroughly pissed on, I hopped off and walked to the arena exit. I left Mushmouth standing there, staring at me. He eventually finished his urinating and he meandered out of the arena.

Not too long after that, I retired from rodeo.

I got feelings?

I am being encouraged by my writing mentor to explore my feelings and publicly post them. A couple of items to note here

• Encourage is another word for nagging, bugging, and pestering when you are reluctant to do something
  
• Writing about my feelings is something I reserve for notes written on paper, which gets folded up, burnt, and the ashes placed in a dumpster behind an un-disclosed fast food restaurant on Bee Caves Road.
  
• My blog, aka public writing place, is for light hearted observations, training things, and race reports, not for feelings.
  

Well, my writing mentor (who I like to refer to as the Word Nazi) is telling me that I cannot progress in the craft of writing unless I can put it all out there for others to enjoy. He wants me to take some risks. He thinks I am holding back because I am worried about who might read what I write and how they will interpret my words. He thinks that if I start putting down in my blog my deepest feelings, then by risking ridicule I become a better writer.

I put some thought into this and I figured he might be right. After all hundreds of thousands of people are writing about how they feel and they are posting it out for everyone to read. They can do it, so why shouldn't I? These are times when it is okay for men to explore their feelings and impressions. It is easier nowadays for a man to write about sensitive natured subjects, not just about the old-school acceptable things like sports, wood working and critical evaluations of what wood is best for smoking meats (which is oak, BTW). Also, I have age on my side. I have seen a lot of change in the world; I can rant and rave about the pitiful state of things, the poor quality of music and how the kids these days don't know anything about fun. Or, I could write about the "good old days", how all we got to play with were rocks and occasionally a bottle cap.

Maybe the Word Nazi is correct and I need to change my attitude about exploring my feelings and putting it down for others to read. Starting right now, I am going to do that. I am going to dig deep, think, analyze, and explore my soul. I am going to figure out how I sense things, what makes me feel that way and then I will provide details on who I am. My fears, what worries me, what I love, what I sense and what I experience. This may not be pretty and this may shock people, but that is the risk I must take. So, here goes,

,,

,,

I'm Hungry.

I am a classy guy

For Mother's Day we went to the Austin Ballet production of Coppelia. It was billed as "ballet's greatest comedy". Let me start out by saying, I like funny. I am a big fan of comedy. Mel Brooks, Brandon Fraser, Kathryn Madigan, slapstick, parodies, I like most comedy. To be honest though, the ballet brand of comedy escaped me. Not funny. Many of the more refined audience members were amused. They laughed at the simplest things. They may have never seen an episode of Lucy or Dick Van Dyke so they have been comedy deprived. I may be jaded by the likes of Airplane, Blazing Saddles and the 2000 Presidential Election. I just did not find it funny. The ballet has no dialog so it relies on facial expressions, hand gestures and an occasional funny dance move. That pretty much limits their bag of tricks when it comes to being funny. They could have at least called on some a pie fight, some pratfalls and even some old Three Stooges gags, minus the nyuck nyuck's.

Even though the humor was beyond my comprehension, I have to say that the ballet was great. The dancers have some amazing athletic abilities. For a classy guy like myself, the talent of the dancers and the complexity of their moves, did not escape me. There were a large number of women in the audience and I think it is partly due to it being an occasion to dress up and be seen. I think it is also due to the butt factor. The male dancers wore very revealing tights and the muscular definition of their butts was not shrouded by anything. Many women were women leaning over, whispering about the "fantastic butts". I hated to shush my wife. When not balleting, I think that the male dancers must model their butts for mannequins used at Nordstrom's, or Macy's. The choreographer missed out on a great comedic routine. He should have integrated the muscular butts of his dancers into some kind of routine where they bounced things off their asses. Ping Pong or tennis balls, anything, maybe have one of them do some stunts where he picks up quarters with nothing but his butt cheeks,, now that would be funny.

Maybe I found the ballet amusing after all and maybe, just possibly, I am not so classy?

 

 

 

 

Lessons Learned

Okay, this is the last of the Galveston posts,,

Gladly, each race and training session is a learning experience. At the Galveston race I learned a lot:

• Never under-estimate the power of visualization. Meditating and going through every aspect of the day had great value out on the course. It especially came in handy when the more adverse elements came into play.
  
• Always keep a sense of humor. During the run, we looped around a lot and we had plenty of chances to see other runners. Whenever possible I would acknowledge / encourage my fellow T3 athletes. On one loop, I moved across to give a high-five to Jane Kang. It was hard to not see her since she runs with a blue feathered boa. I inadvertently got too close to another runner and he yells at me to "Watch your line!" Luckily, a couple of my friends, Brittany and Travis were nearby and caught the incident. They both reassured me that "watch you line guy" was the real jerk and not to worry about it. Later, as I was running, Travis came up from behind and yelled, "Hey watch your line, asshole!" Hard to believe but in the midst of a 70.3 mile race, we were laughing. I still laugh when I think about that. Thanks Travis.
  
• There is a zone that you can get into during a race. The zone is a focus or a trance. Outside factors do not exist. It is living in the moment. I think every sport / activity has a zone. I know that meditation is like that. It is hard to get in and stay in the zone. It does not happen every time but when you do make it into that place, it is awesome. Everything clicks but is all dependent on training, nutrition and attitude plus probably a hundred other things.
  
• Don't forget to care. During the run, a lot of people were hurting. Many were walking; some were sitting down and resting. No matter what, you would always hear someone ask, "You all right?" , "You need anything?" I have been a walker and occasionally a sitter so it was always reassuring to know that someone cared, even if they could do nothing for you. I was especially touched when one of my teammates stopped to help a woman who was visibly cramping. You could see her legs locking up, every muscle tightening. I did not know if Chris knew this woman or not but he stopped his race, took the time to help her out, give her some electrolyte pills and water. The age group athletes are the heart and soul of this sport because of this caring attitude.
  
• After many races, some good and some bad, I have not been able to learn how to express my appreciation to family, friends and my T3 teammates for all their support and encouragement. How do you do that? A simple "thanks" is all I can come up with and it seems to fall so shy of how appreciative I really am. So, if this blog serves any purpose what so ever, please know that I am truly thankful for the spirit that you provide me.
  
• Never, ever throw out a nutrition bottle. If I do, I will try to land it on its side, not the top.
  
• Although it has nothing to do with the race, Galveston is getting back on its feet. You could still see a lot of damage from the hurricane but you also could see that an amazing amount of progress has been made. (Prepare yourself for the selfish segue) There is good news article from a Channel 39 broadcast about the race and the economic impact to Galveston at the following link. It features my daughter, Kelly Jones and some T3 athletes. http://www.39online.com/news/local/kiah-islandcompetitions-story,0,5930952.story
  
• I need to work on my non-obvious transitional writing.
  
  

 

Galveston Half-IM Race report

Race planning

Carrying on from the previous post, race day prep actually started about two weeks out. After going through training and knowing my capabilities, I began visualizing the entire race from start to finish. I pictured every part of the race, down to the lowest level possible. Let me just say that visualizing a race was hard work for me. I would no sooner imagine myself getting in the water and I would get distracted by a butterfly or something of importance like a shiny object. Then I would start all over, getting further into my imaginary race day, and then be distracted again. I would repeat this over and over until I could put together a complete race. I tried to foresee every possible condition and how I would react. I knew I would get butt punched and jostled in the swim so I imagined it and how I would react to that. I visualized how I would exit the water, unzip and get out of my wetsuit. Luckily the race organizers had wetsuit strippers. I had high hopes that they did not visualize stripping off my wetsuit and dragging me across the ground. I was blessed that they and I had both planned the perfect wetsuit strip. I visualized the wind because I knew it would be a factor and I imagined how I would mentally deal with it for 3 plus hours. So long story short, visualization was a key part of race day prep.

I used a clean slate for figuring out my race day nutrition. In the past, I had a routine for nutrition, one cup of Carbo-PRO, one scoop of Pure Workout into a water bottle and that would last about 6 hours. This time, I started from scratch and figured out my estimated number of hours out on the course and calculated the caloric needs and grams of carbohydrates that I could consume. I went with a less concentrated mix as well. What I ended up with was two bottles that would each last me about 90 minutes. I also planned on one water bottle per hour and four electrolytes per hour. Two other items that I picked up from the pros, water only for the first 10-15 minutes of the bike. This would allow blood to be focused on my leg muscles and not so much on my digestive system. After all the capillaries are open and blood is moving, then I can start on my nutrition. At the other end of the bike, I stopped consuming nutrition and only took in water for the last 20 minutes of the bike. This would settle my stomach and allow me to get ready for the stress of the run.

Primary goal – to finish, secondary goal was to come in under 6:00:00. It would be tight but I knew I could do it. Everything had to work.

"Da Race"

I will skip some of the race day minutia and stick with what I feel is important for me (and or you). As the day started, I had the usual nervousness and jitters but it is all good stuff. I hope I never go into a race without that. If it ever gets like that, I may have to move on to something else. The pre-race nerves are good, I need that because once the race starts, the nerves turn into focus. The old fart group (50+ age group) went last of all the men so that meant we would be chased down and passed by the first wave of women. Even with our 5 minute head start, these ladies chased us down and passed us. Of course I was able to do the same for a couple of waves that went before me. Before we started, as we were bobbing in the water waiting for the start, one of the old guys said "Okay guy's, let's chase the young ones down and be sure to show them the age on your calf!" With that, the gun (actually a guy on a bull horn yelling GO!) went off, we headed out into the water. I had visualized the rough water so it did not bother me, I just tried to get into a rhythm and swim. A couple of things I did not visualize we getting elbowed in the nose and getting my heel cut by a swimmer. The blow to my nose was stressful. I heard my nose crack when I got hit and I lost focus for a few minutes as I tried to get back in the moment. Actually I was in the moment, the "That hurt like hell" moment. During the later part of the swim as we headed into shore, I got hit on my heel really hard. I did not think too much of it but when I got into transition, I had a two inch slice on my heel. I do not even want to think how that happened. The swim was good. I was about 6 minutes slower than I expected. The current and rough water took its toll.

Swim time: 41:25 (10th out of 32 in age group)

Transition: 2:51

Bike was uneventful, strong wind going out and a strong one coming back. Trouble was, it was never either at your back or in your face, it always came at you from the side. It was always at an angle. It was also flat so this meant aero position and constant pedaling for 56 miles. Visualization helped here also. I knew that wind would be a factor so I never let it get me down; I just kept pedaling and focused on my heart rate and pedal stroke. If my mind started drifting off task, I would verbally shout "NO" and get back in the right mindset. I did one bad move during a water bottle hand up; I mistakenly threw out one of my nutrition bottles rather than an empty water bottle. For a fraction of a second I thought about leaving it behind. In that same split second, I also imagined the consequences of running on no fuel for the last half of the ride. So I took the time to stop and retrieve my water bottle. When I started drinking from that water bottle, it was then that I realized I tossed it so that it came straight down into a mud pile and the mouthpiece was covered in dirt. The bike ride was great. It was hard but I stayed focused.

Ride time: 3:03:17 (8^th in age group) Average - 18.3 MPH

Transition: 2:25

The run was also uneventful. My bike nutrition plan worked great so I was well hydrated and had enough energy to head out onto the run feeling great. It took me a while to get my legs but, I had prepared myself for that freaky feeling. After using your legs to make a pedal go around for about 3 hours and then all of a sudden directing them to run, you feel like a spaz for the first 10 minutes. It was a four lap route so I got to see lots of teammates out on the course and I knew right where family and friends were camped out. There is not much I can say about the run, other than I ran the whole thing except for and occasional water stop where I stocked up on water and gel. It was hot so I poured water on myself as much as I could to cool down my core and head.

Run Time: 2:04:26 (5^th in age group) Average 9:30 minute miles

Final Time: 5:54.24 (7^th in age group)

 

There is not much I can say but that I am very happy with these results. There is actually a lot more to say, because I learned so much this time around. I will save my reflections for another post. Let me emphasize, I am happy with this race.

It’s Catch up time

There had been a lot going on the last three weeks. The one thing that has not been going on is blog posts. Although there is no set schedule for posting updates, I really want to update them more frequently than I do. In reality, I just do not have that interesting a life so I have to wait until races take place or something worth writing about. Actually, being a "old dude" I am allowed to post cranky notes about how the world is going crazy and that America is falling apart, but I have relegated that to the Tea Party people, or as I call them , "The Angry old white people party".

The last few weeks have been devoted to closing out work projects, race planning, vacation planning, then the execution of said race and vacation. So, to catch up, here is what I have planned over the next couple of days. I plan on writing several updates to cover the race and post race activities. It is important to capture these thoughts and actions before they get replaced with a diatribe on the neighborhood kids trampling across my lawn or how the neighbor's dogs keep crapping on my lawn.

In reality, capturing the race experience and putting it on paper allows me to analyze what I did right and what I can improve on. Making it public allows others to learn from my experience and also lets others suggest areas and means of improvement.

About The Race

The Memorial – Hermann Ironman 70.3 Texas or as I like to call it, the race in Galveston. 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike and a 13.1 mile run. This was my A Race. I have been planning / training for this race since November 2009. Back in November, I had just finished the Conroe Half-Ironman and my race results matched the training effort that I had expended. Putting it in other words, my training was half-assed due to many different variables, most of which are my own fault. So, my race sucked, but I learned so much from that race experience. I was able to finish the race but it was not pretty and it was not something that I was proud of. As soon as I had finished Conroe, I knew that I was going to sign up for Galveston and I knew at that moment, I was going to have a great race. Going into Conroe, from the start of training, I did not have a goal, and my training reflected that. Immediately after I finished Conroe, I started planning my Galveston race. It started out with a very simple goal; I was going to have a great race. A great race was beating my previous best time of 6 hours and one minute. I did not go public with that goal but I did talk it over with Chrissie. I had several weeks to go before I started the training schedule for Galveston so my mindset was all oriented towards the goal of having a great race.

I went into training with secondary goals of a) changing my eating habits and b) training with a purpose.

Previously, I ate anything and everything without any thought to what I was putting in my mouth or how it impacted my athletic capabilities. So, by changing my eating habits, I was hoping to improve the way I fueled the engine that carried me from workout to workout and ultimately through the race. What I did not think about, was how, by changing my diet, I would be improving my whole state of mind and well-being. Over the years of training, I have fallen into a rut that was driven by "just getting in the hours". I made sure I was logging in the right number of training hours. I had forgotten that training sets up the habits that I carry into a race. Racing is not about going through the motions and training should not be that way. "The habits of success are forged in practice" – Gary Mack

"Practice time is when you put brain into your muscles" – Sam Snead

For 2010, I tried to train with a bigger purpose than to just log hours. Sounds simple, but like I said, I forgot.

That is enough for now, I need to go pick up dog poop from the yard and yell at the neighborhood riff-raff. Next Blog post, I will re-cap the race.

Where’s a Red Card foul when you need one?

In Soccer, when a player commits a foul, he is faced with a red or yellow card, depending on the severity of the foul. The referee actually runs up to the player and holds up the yellow or red card. This is similar in nature to the yellow flag being thrown during a football game. In "Dodgeball, a True Underdog Story" do you remember what they used to signify a penalty?
I wish they had a similar approach to offending conversations. We need something when someone has said something really offensive or really, really dumb.
Last night I was at the grocery store in the bulk food area. I was weighing a container of steel cut oats. The salesperson responsible for the bulk food came up to me and said "Wise choice, going with the steel cut oats. They are much better for you than the rolled oats." I was under the assumption that all oats were created equal so this caught me by surprise. I told her that I really liked the consistency better and did not realize there was a difference. She went on to tell me about how the rolled oats were heated and pressed under big iron drums and that nutrition was lost in the process. She spoke with authority on the subject and being fairly new to nutrition, I let her speak. After a short while though, my BS detectors were alarming and she started losing credibility. According to her logic, rolled oats = evil, steel cut = good. I could understand such a vigorous stance if we were deep frying balls of oatmeal made from rolled oats, covering them with powdered sugar and selling them at county fairs (note to self – invent new junk food idea!). Since I was not sure and I did not want to be rude, I let her go on about the subject but as soon as I got home, I googled the heck out of it and found that there is no nutritional difference. The biggest difference is consistency (like I thought) one being mushy and the other being like the bulk food lady, Nutty. At times like that, I really wished Alton Brown or Dr. Oz would have run up, got in her face and threw down a red nutrition facts card foul
Oatmeal Funnel cakes, you heard it here first!

Saturday at Town Lake

I know, it is a very boring title but that is what this is about so, I have to skip titling it something exciting like "Sandra Bullock called me,, Again!".


First off, a public service announcement; I follow several Blogs that I find interesting and inspirational. One of the more inspriratioanal ones is by author Seth Godin. Seth (yes he and I are on a first name basis), is an author of several books that discuss business transformations. He has been referred to as an "agent of change". I think as an agent of change he gets to carry a badge but no gun. His Blog is at http://sethgodin.typepad.com/ and it is very interesting. He not only posts stuff about business but also items that are more personal. One of the items that he recently wrote about was "accepting limits" and he ended the entry with the following "And isn't it even worse to write off a person or an organization merely because of what they are instead of what they might become?"


Okay, down to the lake. First off the lake in downtown is officially called "Lady Bird Lake" but used to be called "Town Lake". It is still "Town Lake" to me. Lady Bird makes it sound like Austin used the random noun generator to name the lake. It could have just as easily been named "Tricycle Jerky Lake". Many people have no idea who Lady Bird is. Children of the 60's know, most Texans know, other than that not many people know who she is. Saturday, I was down at Town lake, for a rare afternoon run. I do not usually get down there at this time of day. The trail was packed with people. Runners, cyclists, walkers, families, dog walkers,, you named it. Being down there at this time and seeing so many people, there were lots of opportunities for observations.

• First off, high praise for me, I had a great 14 mile run.
• First criticism goes to me, for not looking at the schedule and running 4 more miles than I needed to.
• There was a guy, (Yes a man) who was wearing the T-shirt with "PINK" on the front of it, part of me hopes that you live alone because someone should have warned you when you left the house and the other part of me hopes you accidentally pulled your daughter's t-shirt from the dryer and did not pay attention. Either way,, yuck…
• I stopped to assist a visitor to Austin. He had a map out and was looking lost so I offered up some help. He was looking for the bridge near his hotel, he could not remember the bridge name,, it was the "something And Richard bridge". Evidently, not too many people know who Ann Richards is. (see also Lady Bird).
• There are two forms of idiocy down on the trail, there are the idiots who do not make their kids wear helmets while riding their bikes and then there are the other idiots who make the kids wear helmets and they don't. Please note, there are more than two forms of idiocy, these are just two examples. (see also, PINK t-short guy and not looking at the schedule guy)
• There was a woman down there who had the coolest Batman utility belt,, it had two water bottles, a pouch, a cell phone and a iPod. Any more equipment on there and she would need some Bat-suspenders to hold it up.
• Best words of wisdom came from a Mother who, after her kid fell down said "Don't fall down".
• Baby Joggers – Fun for some kids, vehicles of torment to others.
• Too many butt crack wedgies to count, not that I want to, I am just saying.